


Stuck in the Loony Bin (A Bit of a Sanctuary)

by dames_for_jamesbarnes



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Blood and Gore, Gen, Gore, Mild Language, That last one is added with a question mark because i have no idea what is considered explicit, Tony needs a shave, Zombies, but can you blame him?, he agrees, he's a little crazy, mature language, the violence isn't really there but just in case, three times, tony's imaginary friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dames_for_jamesbarnes/pseuds/dames_for_jamesbarnes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, his own voice really drove him insane. Rough and gravelly after about a year of minimal talking, because the world going to shit meant that social interaction faded. Not that he was social beforehand anyway, but he had his good days. </p><p>So Tony Stark created a new voice. Then another. Then another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck in the Loony Bin (A Bit of a Sanctuary)

**Author's Note:**

> First work to upload here on this site. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

"You know, you keep going that way you're bound to run into something. Probably of the flesh-eating variety."

Yes. Tony knew this. Tony also knew that Mr. No Name kept talking, he'd go mental with the pistol in his hand. Silence was a gift given to the world in the form of human-sized creepy crawlies, and this guy was disturbing it. With that damn racket, there's no way that Tony would find anything natural to eat. God, what'd he give for some venison. Or rabbit. Fuck, he'd even settle for squirrel.

"Shut up."

"Nah. You entertain me. That serious look on your face. Come on, the end of the world was _ages_ ago. Live a little, lighten up." 

"I'm not going to lighten up if you talk me to death. You want to eat or not?" Tony snapped, his voice hushed even as his anger grew. His eyes were straight ahead, narrowed slightly as he moved through the trees. The stream was to his right still, he was on the right track. The sun was still high, almost noon maybe, which meant that the density of the forest was slightly easier to maneuver through. God, he hated forests. One day, he'd make it to a beach, where the bugs were minimal and plants weren't trying to kill him or give him a rash every four feet - 

"I live off of your temper and your irritation. Literally. It's what drives me, day and night. You should snap at me more often. And shave. Really, that beard is out of control." 

"I am going to cut out your tongue." 

"Well, making me mute wouldn't be any fun. Plus, that'd be a huge mess. Really, you enjoy me, you know you do. I'm staying." 

A huff of air, a sigh of pure irritation, made its way from Tony's lips. No Name was right, unfortunately. Sometimes he just needed to vent his anger at someone, and this guy would be good for taking the hits. And, at least today, he'd managed to keep Tony's mind off of the ache in his joints and the blisters on his feet and the sweat that drenched his shirt. After rolling his eyes, he glanced to the side. He swore he could hear the rustle of leaves underfoot another man, the flash of blond hair, the tone that twisted Tony's insides and gave him the need to truly throttle. That's all he was right now, flashes of... something. Naming him would help. 

"Yeah, you really should name me. I'm quite a character. Funny, charismatic, that sense of charm that you hate and yet find somewhat endearing. C'mon, think for a moment, I'll wait right here, and - "

"Clinton." The name spilled out of Tony's lips. He couldn't remember ever knowing a Clinton, maybe a friend's dog or something, but it sounded right. Fit. And with a grin, maybe just to spite the newly-named Clinton and make that voice a little less smug, he added another name. "Francis. Clinton Francis." 

Silence followed, and Tony grinned. 

"You better fucking call me Clint."

"No promises. How about Frankie?"

 

* * *

 

A few months ago, Tony found a pack of cards while scavenging through an apartment complex that had long ago wasted away and was smelly as shit. He'd nearly lost an arm, broke his baseball bat, and managed to slice open his leg, but it was worth the small supply of canned food. And the satisfaction of smashing in those bastards' faces. 

So, every couple of days, if he'd found a good shelter for the night or a good place to rest, Tony played solitaire. Like the kind he used to play on his computer in a past life. 

Tonight, he'd been playing for a couple of hours. The peaches he'd found about a week ago, packed in syrup and juice and sugar, were laying heavily in his stomach, and he was just relaxing. Bounty such as delicious peaches was rare nowadays, and he treasured the find, savoring each and every bite and even gulping down the leftover sugar juice that filled the bottom of the can. It was a good day, and to make it even better, he was about to win. 

A flash of curly hair caught his attention, and he smiled to himself, laying down the last king on top of the last card stack, glad to have nice company for such an accomplishment. Bruce always managed to catch the good things. 

"That was a quick game." The comment was mild, but kind, and Tony smiled, still keeping his eyes on the cards as he shuffled. 

"It was a brutally fast game and I totally beat my last time."

"And what was your last time?"

"Slower than that." 

Laughter floated through the air, an airy noise that brought a pleased expression to Tony's face. He finished up shuffling, before dealing out another round, eyes focused as he began the game with a bit lip and a scratch to the back of the head. There was a few seconds of careful consideration as Tony scratched at his chin. Comfortable quiet. 

"You can move the - " Bruce began, but Tony raised his hand to silence him. 

"I know, I know," Tony grumbled, placing the red four of diamonds on the black five of clubs. Shit. 

"Of course you know, I'm you." 

"Well, some of me. I like you. I don't like me." 

"You're not bad company. Though sometimes a little arrogant. And snappy." The tone was teasing, and Tony could imagine a small quirk of lips, a slight array of stubble that was extremely tame compared to the monster on his own face. He'd run out of shaving cream and had yet to find another can. "You know soon you're going to get get frustrated and blame me."

"You're a distracting noise. Distractions are annoying."

"Well, how rude." 

Bruce was clearer than the other two. He supposed since Bruce was the first, and that he had more time to catch onto speech patterns and such. Clinton was rather new, and Natasha just barely older, so they tended to mumble, or slur their words together, or speak so fast that Tony could barely understand them. Or they were just annoying and Tony blocked them out (specifically Clinton). Bruce was calm. Kind. Sometimes harsh, but only when he needed to be. Sometimes Natasha joined him, but she often spoke in such a low tone that he had trouble picking her out. Bruce helped. Bruce always helped. 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to say that. You manage to keep me somewhat sane, it was incredibly impolite of me. How can I ever receive your forgiveness?"

"Move the nine." 

 

* * *

 

 _Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, run, run, run, don't look back, just run. Up ahead, clearing, turn around see them._  He didn't know who's voice it was, might've be his own, but he was too busy sprinting forward to care. By the cursing, it could have be the new guy, who he'd taken to calling Clint, but there was no way to tell even if he wanted to. Right now, he was focusing in on that clearing.

He managed to get there without tripping over his own feet, and considering the slight panic he was in, it was a complete surprise. Whirling around, he saw them, numbered three. Dead eyes, glazed over, rotting flesh, mottled green and brown and yellow that made his stomach threaten to spill. One of them had a missing arm, as they scrambled into focus, limping and groaning. Another had a couple of bullet wounds leaking brown liquid onto his mud-and-shit-covered shirt. The third was just... misshapen, stumbling forward on one foot and eventually falling forward to crawl on the ground. 

He didn't dare shoot. Not today. These were the fifth, sixth, and seventh mongrels he'd had to put down in about an hour, and strikes to the head worked just fine. He just needed to get close to one without the others. Which was definitely easier said than done, but...even panting from running he managed. Took a while, his ax blade was a bit dull and he still had to work on hitting the forehead just right, but soon afterwards he had red and brown splatters to add to the mess that was his shirt and a torn sleeve from one who got a bit too feisty. 

Tony grabbed at his chest, clutching his heart, wanting nothing more than to collapse into a pile of nothing and just sleep. Maybe forever. 

Red hair. That was new. Usually he noticed Natasha when he saw a slender hand, or a flash of green eyes. Red hair was a new thing. He'd make sure to remember that. She seemed to be behind him, as always, just far enough where he had to strain to hear her, but every day she was getting louder and clearer. And meaner. Though he'd never say that to her face. Or what he imagined her face looked like

"Where'd you get the hamster?" 

"The what?"

"The thing on your face. It's a little scraggly to be a hamster though. Weasel?" 

"You're fucking awful." 

She might have laughed, maybe chuckled, but it's there and gone and he can't hear it anymore. It's a shame. He hadn't heard a good laugh from her yet, and it was something he looked forward to. He would think her laugh would be soft, clearly feminine, and bright. Like her hair. God, he couldn't stop seeing it now. He knew he saw things, no one would classify him as having a right mind, but he never saw this many things. Might've been the freshly re-opened leg wound. 

She said something else. He couldn't make it out, not in his scramble to remove his backpack, search for the clean bandages and antibacterial shit, and dress his boo-boo. But he quickly assumed that she was continuing to make fun of him and returned in kind. 

"I know, I know, I get it. I need to shave. Tell me something I don't know. Which you can't. For obvious reasons." His eyes stayed on his bandage work as much as he could, the rest of his attention wandering around the tree line. 

"I have to say, you have a very healthy imagination." Her words were already getting fainter, and he hated that he couldn't keep his concentration up, but he kept at it as long as he could.

"Or I'm simply going insane. Probably, most likely I'm already on that edge." 

"At least you're...at least you..." The tone, the sounds of her were fading in and out, and he could tell that she repeated it for his sake, but he still didn't understand and he had a feeling that was for a reason.

"Natasha?" 

"... _aware._ "

And suddenly he was.

The banter was nice. Relieving. And he loved it while it lasted, but really, with the groaning he could hear from the branches and shrubbery, he had a feeling he couldn't stand around for very much longer. Hefting up his backpack, testing the weight on his foot, Tony planted it firmly before moving along, the slight limp causing the branches to drag underfoot. 

 

* * *

 

When a fourth friend comes around and his first words to Tony are "oh, good grief, you're not keeping that beard, are you," Tony's next stop is a goddamn barber shop. 

 

 


End file.
